In Dreams
by Youarethelightoftheworld
Summary: There is something about the middle of the night, and darkness, and dreams...something that feels magical. Something that makes wonderful things happen, almost without you noticing. Pure fluff, and my first fanfiction! I couldn't hold it in any longer ;) Please let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

A very sleepy John Watson shuffled slowly into 221B and was very grateful to see that the flat was dark and quiet. He had spent the last 12 hours at the clinic wiping runny noses and dodging coughs. It didn't help that it was quite freezing outside. Snow had begun to fall from the sky just as he'd entered the flat, and he shivered as he took slow, halting steps towards the hall.

Eyes barely open, John only just noticed a small movement to his right. Yawning widely, he turned to look and saw Sherlock, dressed only in his favorite pair of dark blue pajama pants, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door. Slightly surprised to see another human, as it was 2 in the morning, John instinctively moved backwards, pressing his back to the wall that was opposite Sherlock.

There was conversation, and John felt certain that he had participated in it, but he was scarcely able to process or recall what was said. This was a shame, as Sherlock was doing a wonderful job of asking John about his day; something they had agreed Sherlock would try ("Oh John, you are insufferable…_fine, _I will ask and then listen as you describe the dull minutiae of your daily existence"). John's entire body stretched with another yawn, and his eyes fluttered shut.

He began to slide slowly down the wall.

"John." hushed Sherlock, moving forward instinctively and wrapping his arms around John's torso, holding him up.

"Hmmmmmm." John's head rested softly on Sherlock's shoulder. Through the mist of his impending slumber, John thought he heard Sherlock sigh with indignation and...was that affection? In any case, he was nearly certain that he heard him whisper in a deep, low voice: "Come, John. To bed with you. Just…here."

And then…how had it happened? John was wrapped in a warm, black duvet, his head resting on a soft pillow, and before he could associate this bed and this pillow to the man who had just tucked him in, he was fast asleep.

It may have been minutes later, or it may have been hours. John's eyes opened slowly, drowsily, and struggled to focus on a shape in the surrounding darkness. John was surprised that his brain did not make an audible *click***** as the facts moved into place and he recalled where he was. Well then. This was new. He struggled to make sense of the series of events that had led him here. Although he could not recollect the particulars, John knew Sherlock better than he had ever known anyone else in his whole life, and he could imagine the exact conversation that may have transpired between them.

"…_Not my bed, Sher…"_

"_Obvious. But being the inadequate human that you are, you required sleep immediately."_

"_But…my room…"_

"…_Is up a flight of 16 stairs, John. I wasn't about to drag you up 16 stairs, even if the last three are 1/8__th__ of an inch shorter than the first 13. Honestly. It was only logical to bring you here." _

"…_Thanks…"_

"_No need to thank me, John. It saved me a great deal of exertion and you a great deal of unattractive grunting. And anyway...I wanted..."_

"_Sher…"_

"_Shh, John. __Sleep now."_

John smiled faintly, feeling as though he had slipped into a sleepless dream by imagining this conversation so vividly, while his entire body still felt so relaxed and lethargic. Bringing himself back through the peaceful fog of his dream-like state, he gradually became aware of the man next to him.

Sherlock, who was fast asleep and facing him, had one hand curled around John's neck, his fingers resting gently in his hair.

John suddenly became intensely aware of Sherlock's breathing. In, out…steady and calm. Wrapped up in dreams like this, Sherlock looked peaceful; something the man rarely embodied. In a state of confusion (and was that adoration?), John trailed his fingers up Sherlock's chest as it rose and fell, rose and fell, and tangled them in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

When Sherlock slipped out of a dream some time later (was it minutes? seconds?), he found John in that very spot, mirroring him. Symmetrical and balanced: his other half. _His_.

And through the haze of a dream, John thought he felt something gentle and almost impossibly soft, as a kiss was placed carefully on his forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

As sunlight peaked through the window, John Watson's eyes began to open. It took him less than 3 seconds to remember what had happened the night before, and even less for him to begin feeling anxious about it. He was curled up on his side facing Sherlock, who lay on his back with his eyes wide open and his hands resting underneath his head.

"Ah, wonderful, you're awake," said Sherlock, without so much as a glance towards John. "I was hoping you'd get up soon and make tea. Lestrade rang, he needs us for a case, and I'm thirsty."

John blinked. Was Sherlock really going to speak to him as if waking up together was a normal occurrence? He had to say something…something intelligent, and mature, and…oh, hell.

"Don't we need to talk about this?" he blurted out, refraining from rolling his eyes at his nearly shrill, quavering voice. He pulled himself into a seated position, wishing to feel slightly less like a damsel in distress.

"Why."

"Why? Well...because we do! What did last night…well, mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock sighed, exasperated, still staring at the ceiling. "Love."

"Well, yes, but…wait, what?"

John, who had been staring pointedly at his hands, lifted his head frantically and realized that Sherlock had gotten out of bed and marched out the bedroom door.

John scrambled out of bed and hurried after him, just in time to see Sherlock walking briskly up the stairs towards John's bedroom.

"Sherlock, wait! You can't just say something like that and then leave the room! Honestly, you're so-"

"Look, John" said Sherlock, as they entered John's bedroom. "You have your bed sheets arranged as if someone else sleeps here with you. Half of your dresser is completely empty, and all of your clothes are on one side of the closet. You've left space for someone else. Isn't it clear? You've left space for me."

John gaped at him, wondering when Sherlock had been in his room long enough to notice these things in the first place. Of course, now that he looked around, it did seem…well, he'd known all along, hadn't he? Somewhere, in the back of his mind, where his most protected and potentially catastrophic thoughts lay hidden…he'd known there was love between them. But he hadn't thought that Sherlock…

"Okay. Fine. But how did you know that…well, how could I have known that you were in love, as well? You've never said a word to me about…I had no idea, Sherlock!"

"Words. Words are boring, John. You've missed the signs, again and again! Didn't you notice that sometimes I keep eye contact with you for more than 3 seconds? I have even smiled at you while keeping eye contact! Honestly, John, all the textbook definitions suggest- "

"All right, all right, Sherlock. Still, this is…are you sure?" John could feel the desperation in his voice, and knew that he must look slightly terrified.

Sherlock suddenly became rather serious. The look on his face made John swallow hard and stare as Sherlock took slow, steady steps towards him. And then he was right in front of John, close enough to touch.

Sherlock's hands slid onto John's shoulders, up the sides of his neck, and into his hair. John shuddered and, without thinking, closed his eyes in pleasure.

"John…" breathed Sherlock, "I've always told you. You look, but do not see. Open your eyes, John. See what is right in front of you, and then you will know."

John's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed intently at the man in front of him. Smooth forehead; free of the worry lines that were often there. A dimple where his mouth curved into an easy smile. Deep, calm breaths. Fingers stroking gently. Eyes (what color were they? Green, blue, grey? Did it matter?), unmistakably full of…yes. Love. Sherlock had been teaching him how to see all along, and John could deduce everything he needed to know now.

"Oh…" said John, lightly. "I see it now, Sherlock. I see it."

And as Sherlock's smile widened, the sun peaked in the sky and streamed in through the window like a beacon.


End file.
